


Water's Edge

by mrecookies



Series: niche in your chest [1]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Body Modification, Cyborgs, Killing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pain Kink, Rough Sex, What Was I Thinking?, mild breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrecookies/pseuds/mrecookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't have a heart," Brad says. "Not in a traditional sense. I remember having one. It caused me a lot of pain. I don't miss the fucking thing."</p><p>Or: the start of a verse in which Nate and Ray are serial killers who meet cyborg!Brad and Walt in a diner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water's Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags; while the violence isn't really graphic, there is some talk of killing people via knives, neck-breaking, fire, and strangulation. First time exploring serial killers; first time writing breathplay and pain kink; one of my first attempts at sexual content.
> 
> For 30muse round 2, prompt #17: road trip. Free-writing inspired by Siken's _Road Music_. at first this was supposed to be some sci-fi futuristic dystopia fic in which Nate meets cyborg/android Brad. But my brain filled in Nate's occupation as serial killer halfway through and this was written.

Nate's driving down the highway. The sun is murky in the too-red sky; exhaust pumps out, invisible now that they've developed some new-fangled technology that reduces your car's carbon footprint by seventy percent, but Nate tilts his head up and spots five shuttles taking off into space in this part of the world alone and wonders if it's really worth it.

His sunglasses have a layer of grime over the lenses, and his reflection in the dusty rearview mirror reveals someone who could be in one of those boybands from the nineties, but he doesn't care, just whistles while he can, on a highway that's clogged with a thousand other cars.

Ray wakes up ten minutes later and complains about the heat, but Ray complains about everything. About the way Nate tries to keep the car clean, about the fact that he hates long drives at night even though it's an fair trade since he falls asleep easily in the sun.

"You're bound to get sunburnt one day," Nate says for the umpteenth time, tossing him the sunscreen.

"Fuck you. My skin is perfect," Ray says, leaning back and falling asleep again.

They inch forward for the next few hours. Evening comes and the heat gives way to cool breeze, and Ray switches places with Nate a moment before the traffic suddenly clears, the accident on the left lane all cleaned up. Pristine. Ray spits as they pass the site; Nate smacks him on the head when the skoal nearly hits the white chalk outline that once contained a body.

*

Ray likes to modify his body. He has piercings and tattoos, but draws the line at switching out organic material for bionic parts. "I need to maintain my essence, and I ain't talking only talking about my juice, motherfucker," he says, standing proudly in their motel room, his cock hanging out of his jeans. "Bitches love Ray-Ray."

Nate just snorts and throws a pillow at him, curling up in his motel bed with a tattered copy of a book on Ancient Greece. Not many people read physical books now, so they come dirt cheap. This one came free with the key to their room. Their room might be close to a shithole, but at least the owner has some taste.

*

They're on the road again; they're always on the road. A misfit couple of boys playing at men, or is it the other way around? Nate never knows. The only thing that's sure is that Ray takes the night drives when there are no cheap motels in sight, and Nate takes the day drives.

The diner is styled with a sci-fi design. It's tacky, but they serve pizza and burgers and milkshakes, so they pull in and get some food. Ray spills milkshake over himself and Nate, but doesn't care about his own clothes, so Nate ends up scrubbing strawberry liquid in the dingy bathroom. When he steps back into the diner, Ray's making friends with two people who straddle the line between human and machine.

*

"I don't have a heart," Brad says. "Not in a traditional sense. I remember having one. It caused me a lot of pain. I don't miss the fucking thing."

Nate doesn't know what to say, so he just nods and sips his drink and wishes to be in the car with Ray off to their next destination. But Ray is having fun with Walt, who's strangely enamored with Ray's piercings and tattoos, and they're bantering back and forth about body modifications and techniques and artists.

"What do you do?" he asks finally, quirking an eyebrow at Brad.

"I'm an engineer." Brad's fingers are long and slender. There's a beauty about him; Nate has never met a cyborg before. There aren't many about, since the technology is still pretty new. "We used to be in the military, which explains this." He gestures carelessly to his body.

"I'm a serial killer," Nate says blandly, playing with the straw in his empty glass. "I suppose I don't have much of a heart either."

*

They're always on the road. Ray does the grifting, the lies falling easy from his mouth. Ray reels them in, enjoying the feel of people gravitating to him despite his looks, and they end up in a motel room with free books and get Nate as a surprise add-on.

Sometimes, Nate's methodical, likes to tie them up and run the curve of the blade up and down thin skin just to watch them shiver. Then he twists their neck, because he's also unpredictable. Sometimes, he feels the stirrings of anger and frustration, especially when the papers report the murders and blame in on incompetent fools like Schwetje and Casey Kasem, who're amateurs at best. At least Nate and Ray never leave trails behind, even when Nate gets furious and actually uses his knives and ropes. It's harder than you'd think, with cameras everywhere. But they make do.

*

"I'd kill him for you," Ray breathes into Walt's ear and feels the other man shiver. "I don't do the deed much, homes, to be honest. I'm magnanimous like that. But I would. For you."

Walt's pupils are blown, and Ray can't believe his luck, that he'd find someone so perfect. Not that Nate's awesome, but Walt—Walt is _Walt_ and Ray _wants_ him. "How?"

Ray watches Walt lick his lips. "Fire. I like fire. I like burning people. Nate says it's messy, but you ain't seen the way he is when he's fucking pissed. Or my fingers around his throat, maybe that would be better, more elegant." He grins when Walt flushes. "I'd strangle that motherfucker for you, Walt, talk to you while I did it, tell you how it feels to watch the life disappear from his eyes."

*

This is sick but they're sick and they don't have a heart between them. So Ray kills the man for Walt and tosses him in the dumpster behind the motel office. So Nate shows how he wields his blades for Brad and slits the man's throat before driving out to dump the body in another part of the desert. So they fuck, two by two on the motel beds, after.

This is sick, but this is _perfect_ , and Nate has never felt so good with Brad pressing down on his thighs, his hips; Brad's teethmarks against his shoulder, Brad's long slender fingers in his mouth, Brad's cock deep inside Nate, and it hurts and it burns but Nate comes anyway, choking for air. He turns his head and sees Ray, sees how Ray takes everything from Walt and gives back twice as much, sees a thumb brushing against a tanned throat and applying just the right amount of pressure for Walt to buck up, cock spurting come all over his stomach.

This is sick, and Brad's still fucking Nate's ass even though it's getting sore, but Nate's riding the high of the knowledge that they'll be on the road in the morning, going to somewhere new and doing it all again.


End file.
